


like a hero coming home

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Panties, Public Sex, Sentai Genji Shimada, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 19:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11214519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: Since the uprising of Hanamura’s newest celebrity hero, the village nights have gotten much quieter; and never before has Sentaiman been more happy for it than now, when he’s got his favorite adoring fanboy backed up against an alley wall and starry-eyed.





	like a hero coming home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muja/gifts).



Since the uprising of Hanamura’s newest celebrity hero, the village nights have gotten much quieter; and never before has Sentaiman been more happy for it than now, when he’s got his favorite adoring fanboy backed up against an alley wall and starry-eyed.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think that you’re stalking me,” Sentaiman murmurs, his voice altered and made non-human by his helmet--but judging by the shiver that races down Hanzo’s body, the way he pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth, he doesn’t mind the robotic filter. Sentaiman leans in further, propping his arms up on the alley wall and caging Hanzo in between brick, muscle, and bright green metal. “Is that it, Hanzo? You’re so desperate to see me that you’d track my every move, hunt me down?”

“Of course not,” Hanzo whispers, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he wants so badly to reach out and feel every inch of the body trapping him in but can’t--still caught up in his own head, in his hero worship, despite everything they’ve done together. “I...I just--”

“You don’t have to explain to me,” Sentaiman coos, moving one arm down to drag his fingers lightly down Hanzo’s cheek and delighting in the way he turns into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as a sigh spills past his lips. He’s so pretty like this, made docile and sweet and shy, and Sentaiman wants nothing more than he wants to sear this image into his head and hold it there forever, call upon it on the cold nights when he lays in bed and wonders why he even bothers trying to be the hero Hanamura needs. 

He tips his head forward and wonders if, this close, Hanzo can see his eyes even through the tinted visor.

“You can touch me,” he whispers, voice low and soft in the quiet alley. “I know you want to.”

Hanzo makes a sharp, keening sound, and it’s like opening a floodgate--his hands jerk up and run over the sharp flares on Sentaiman’s forehead, down the curve of his helmet, across the column of his throat, like he wants to feel every inch of Sentaiman all at once. Hanzo’s fingers tangle in his scarf and pull him in to press open-mouthed, desperate kisses across his faceplate; Sentaiman can feel the damp heat of Hanzo’s mouth through the vents in the metal, and he groans into their kiss, feeling his cock stir in the tight confines of his spandex.

He hopes Hanzo had more than just this in mind.

“Sentaiman…” Hanzo breathes it like a prayer, looks up through his lashes at the body looming over his; his cheeks are a ruddy pink, the color crawling from his neck all the way up to the tips of his ears and making them nearly glow. His hands slowly move lower, tracing over the hard lines of Sentaiman’s abdominal armor to feel out every angle and dip of plating. They reach his waistband and suddenly falter, skirting along the edge of his belt like he’s uncertain, shy; and Sentaiman can’t help his breathless chuckle.

“You’re so cute. Do you want my cock again?”

Hanzo looks up at him sharply, scandalized, more color rushing into his cheeks to turn them scarlet--but then he nods, too, licking his lips and making them gleam.

“...please, Sentaiman.”

“Well.” Sentaiman reaches between them, grabbing one of Hanzo’s hands and moving it lower, lower, until he can feel where Sentaiman’s cock strains against his costume, hard and hot. Hanzo’s eyes widen, and when Sentaiman pulls his own hand away, Hanzo’s lingers, fingers stroking softly over the throbbing flesh separated only by a thin layer of spandex. “What kind of hero would I be, if I didn’t help out the citizens who need me the most?”

Hanzo looks like he might answer, his brows furrowing a little--but Sentaiman doesn’t give him time as he grabs for the buttons of Hanzo’s shirt, gloves moving quick to get them undone. He’s delighted to find that Hanzo’s blush has spread all the way down to his torso, that Hanzo’s excitement has made his nipples pebbled and hard; Sentaiman flicks one, lightly, and grins under his mask as Hanzo startles, flinching against the wall.

“You’re so sensitive, Hanzo,” he murmurs, pushing the shirt down Hanzo’s shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the ground--and if Hanzo has any qualms about stripping in public, even with as secluded as they are, he keeps them to himself, his eyes locked on Sentaiman’s gloves and watching his every move. “So indecent, letting me do all this...what if someone saw? What if your face was put on the morning news, as the mysterious lover of Sentaiman--wouldn’t that bother you?”

He doesn’t expect an answer, as he busies himself with unbuttoning Hanzo’s jeans; but more than that, he doesn’t expect Hanzo’s hand, suddenly grabbing for his wrists and halting him before he can get his jeans open. Sentaiman tilts his head up a little, questioning, and finds Hanzo’s gaze turned away, his lip caught between his teeth.

“...Hanzo--?”

“I-I...you can’t laugh.” Hanzo’s gaze swings back to Sentaiman’s face, eyes darting across his visor like he doesn’t know exactly where to look. “You can’t. Swear it.”

Under his helmet, Sentaiman slowly raises a brow; but he nods, the first hints of a grin stretching across his face at Hanzo’s peculiar behaviour. “...I swear. You gonna let me get your pants off now?”

Hanzo hesitates, like he’s still uncertain--but then nods, bringing his hands up to cover his face as his eyes close, and Genji pounces on the permission. His hands, now unrestrained, make quick work of Hanzo’s button and zipper; and when he tugs the jeans down the supple curve of Hanzo’s ass, it’s only a bite to his tongue and the thought of the promise he made that keeps the laughter in check.

“....oh my, Hanzo.” Genji thumbs lightly at the frilly, white lace border of the green polka-dot panties that cling to Hanzo’s hips, and can’t help his chuckle as he looks down at a chibi version of his own helmet, plastered proudly right over the straining bulge of Hanzo’s dick. “Now where in the world did a full-grown man like you pick up _these_?”

“S-shut up!” Hanzo glares at him from behind the safety of his splayed fingers, his cheeks a brilliant pink. “You said you wouldn’t laugh--”

“And I’m not laughing,” Sentaiman says, grinning as he traces both thumbs down the front of the panties, one on either side of Hanzo’s thickening cock; it twitches at his touch, a tiny wet spot blooming out across the fabric between chibi-Sentaiman’s helmet crests. “I’m just admiring such a cute fashion choice...you really are a fanboy, aren’t you? How embarrassed were you, picking them up at the store--hoping the cashier didn’t ask why you were buying girls’ underwear--”

“I didn’t--I bought them online!”

“Ooh, what store? I might have to buy you some more pairs, do they come in different colors?”

“E-enough!” Hanzo’s face is more flushed than Sentaiman has ever seen it, and for a moment he wonders if he’s gone too far--but then he glances down, and sees that the very tip of Hanzo’s cock has started to peek out of his panties, drooling glistening pre-cum down its ruddy pink head. His grin turns devious, hidden as Hanzo grinds out, “Aren’t you--if you’re done tormenting me, can we please--”

“Yes, yes,” Sentaiman says, grabbing both sides of the panties in a careful pinch between his fingers and slowly tugging them down. They drag over the hard line of Hanzo’s cock teasingly, make him shudder against the wall; and when Sentaiman wraps one gloved hand around the throbbing length to give it a soft squeeze, Hanzo’s knees nearly buckle. “I know you want my cock. Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you.”

Sentaiman swipes his thumb over the leaking tip of Hanzo’s cock, just long enough to collect the pre-cum beaded up at his slit; and with his free hand he unzips the opening built into his suit and fumbles to pull his cock out into the cool night air.

Hanzo’s eyes light immediately upon it, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and make them shine. He drags his gaze up to Sentaiman, eyes dark and wet as they scan over his visor. 

“...can…can I--?”

Sentaiman tuts, feeling along the pouches on his belt, searching for one in particular. “What, you want to lick it?” He shakes his head. “It’s sweaty, you know. Probably smells.”

Hanzo bites his lip, but is spared from answering by Sentaiman’s triumphant noise as he finally finds the right pouch. He pulls out a packet of medical-grade lubricant--he’d initially put it on his belt to help him remove any bullets he might get shot with, but he’s suddenly finding that he likes this use much more. He waves the packet in Hanzo’s face.

“I wanna watch you do it.”

The face Hanzo gives him is scandalized, disbelieving; but when Genji thrusts the packet of lube at him again, he takes it in his shaking fingers, looks around the alley like he’s just realized where--and how exposed--they are. “You...you can’t be serious--”

“Aw, c’mon, Hanzo.” Sentaiman runs his hands down Hanzo’s sides, skirting his fingertips across the vee of his hips; then he grabs Hanzo by the thighs and hauls him up, hooking his arms under Hanzo’s legs and holding him aloft against the alley wall. His panties tumble down to hang from his foot by white lace, and he clings to Sentaiman’s neck, his grip painfully tight until Sentaiman coos soft and reassuring in his ear.

“Don’t be scared,” he says, squeezing Hanzo’s thighs just a bit tighter, watching the way his dark eyes widen. “Sentaiman’s got you. I won’t let you fall.”

It seems to be all the encouragement that Hanzo needs.

In the next heartbeat he’s nodding, tearing the packet of lube open with his teeth and spilling it onto his fingers; Sentaiman doesn’t even get to admire it gleaming in the streetlights before Hanzo’s hand ducks between his quaking thighs, past the hard curve of his cock and the soft-looking swell of his balls, diving straight for the sweet little hole that Sentaiman has yet to sample.

He mourns that the visual is stolen from him--that he can’t watch Hanzo’s fingers plunge into himself, slick and greedy as he works his muscles open, makes himself loose for his hero--but watching Hanzo’s face is almost better. His slender brows furrow and his rosy mouth falls into a round o when his fingers curl just right, and Sentaiman finds himself captivated by it, free to stare and admire all he wants behind the safety of his visor.

“That’s it,” he whispers, stepping closer and crowding Hanzo against the wall, hiking his thighs up higher. “That’s it, Hanzo, good boy...you ready for me? You want my dick now?”

All Hanzo can manage is a halting nod, a choked noise low in his throat--but it’s enough. Sentaiman angles his hips up, feels his cock butting over the curves of Hanzo’s fingers, still buried inside his hole; and when they slip free, rub slick over the flushed, sensitive head of his dick, Sentaiman can’t help his moan. He presses forward until the tip of his cock has worked its way in, snug in the hot, velvety clench of Hanzo’s insides, and has to stop for a second to breathe.

Genji Shimada--dear little brother to the man currently speared so prettily on his cock--would tell Hanzo to stop, would tell him this has gone on long enough, would tell him _we shouldn’t, I can’t, it’s wrong._

But Sentaiman, the hero of Hanamura, just grabs at the meat of Hanzo’s thighs, angles his hips up, and fucks the length of his cock in until there is nothing more to give.

Hanzo howls with it, throwing his head back against the alley wall; there’s tears glittering in his dark eyes. Sentaiman can see them even through the tint of his visor, and he suddenly hates how restrictive his helmet is, how it keeps him from leaning forward and licking them away, tasting the salt on Hanzo’s skin.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice ragged even through the filter. Hanzo closes his eyes and nods, twists his fingers in the fabric of Sentaiman’s scarf, and leans his head forward until his forehead is resting against Sentaiman’s helmet. The hot puffs of his panting breaths fog up the glassy visor in front of him.

_“M-more.”_

And Sentiaman is, at the end of the day, a hero who bends to the will of his admirers. 

He sets up a quick pace--fucking Hanzo with sharp thrusts of his hips that only pull about half his cock out, always leave Hanzo with enough to clench down on and savour--and the mewls that spill from Hanzo’s lips, the soft little keens that Sentaiman fucks out of him, go straight to his dick. He shifts his grip on Hanzo’s thighs to hoist his knees up higher, folding Hanzo over so he can drive deeper, harder, into him, and Hanzo’s moans turn desperate.

“S-Sentaiman,” he gasps, his eyes wide-open and wet, wild with his lust; one of his hands untangles from Sentaiman’s scarf to grab at his own cock, fumbling to stroke over the flushed, straining flesh in quick little pulls that tell of his need. “Sentai--Sentaiman--”

“That’s right.” Sentaiman fucks up into him harder, faster, chasing his own completion as much as Hanzo’s; but it’s less a race, more a collaborative effort toward a common goal. Under the white of his gloves, Sentaiman notices the strong muscles in Hanzo’s thick thighs starting to twitch and jump--and he tilts his head forward, closer to Hanzo’s ear. “Fuck--you close, Hanzo? Gonna cum, getting railed by Sentaiman in some dirty alley, where anyone could see?”

The noise Hanzo makes is just that--noise, just a strangled attempt at words leaving his throat, but the nodding of his head is frantic and clear. His hand moves quicker over his own length, his mouth falling open to pant open-mouthed against the side of Sentaiman’s helmet, and even though he can’t feel the moisture on Hanzo’s breath it’s still one of the hottest things Sentaiman’s ever seen.

“That’s it,” he croons, torn between looking at Hanzo’s face and watching his hand on his dick, trying to match his motions with his own thrusts. “That’s it, Hanzo, yeah--c’mon baby, cum for me, do it, spill all over yourself, c’mon--”

And whether it’s the dirty talk or the sudden thrust that sends his dick plunging deep into Hanzo’s hole, Sentaiman doesn’t know--but what matters is the sight of Hanzo throwing his head back, his cheeks a rosy red and lips parted in a cry, hand wrapped tight around his cock as it twitches and pulses thick ropes of white across his chest and belly. The spend slides down his heaving muscles sluggishly, and Sentaiman finds himself captivated by it, keeping the image in the forefront of his mind even as he squeezes his eyes shut and ruts hard into Hanzo one last time. His own orgasm feels, somehow, lesser; an afterthought, almost, as he squeezes Hanzo’s thighs tight in his hands and jams up into him as close as he can get, until the pressure of his twitching balls against Hanzo’s ass is almost painful. 

They stay still for a few heartbeats, after--Hanzo with his arms slung around Sentaiman’s neck, panting against the folds of his scarf, and Sentaiman rubbing circles into Hanzo’s thighs with his thumbs, humming at the feeling of gradually going soft inside his warm hole. When he pulls out, he makes both of them hiss; and he gently sets Hanzo back on his feet, and isn’t surprised when the other man’s legs wobble and threaten to buckle under him.

“Careful,” Sentaiman says, grinning as he tucks his dick away. The sight of Hanzo naked and sweaty in an alley, still blitzed from his post-fuck afterglow, is enough to make him almost want a second round; instead, he tells himself he’ll save this memory for the shower, later. 

He watches Hanzo grab his shirt off the ground and tug it on, and leans down to snag the panties with a fingertip, holding them up by Hanzo’s face as he purrs, “These are a good addition to your wardrobe. I like them.”

“I thought you might,” Hanzo says, snatching the panties from Sentaiman’s grip; he turns them over his in his hands, then looks up into that black visor, his grin suddenly turning wry. “...next time, I’ll wear the pink ones.”

And Sentaiman has never been more grateful for his helmet, to hide the lecherous way he smiles.

_Next time._


End file.
